


the soldier and her genius

by KingLear



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bucky-centric, F/M, Female Bucky Barnes, Not completely canon compliant, Possessive Behavior, Possibly Unrequited Love, Smut, Sugar Daddy Howard, Tags to be added, World War II, as romantic as a grimy ww2 fic can be, galore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-05-09 17:04:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14720111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingLear/pseuds/KingLear
Summary: Howard knows Bucky too well; she can't run away from him forever.





	1. Chapter 1

It started off with a knowing look from Stark that had Bucky nervous. The other man knew something about Bucky and she had no idea which secret it could have been that the boy genius had figured out. Bucky's falsified army papers were blotty and splotched with holes ridden through all of them if a flickering eye was careful enough to observe. She'd gotten them done through a family friend who'd looked at her plight and Steve's with pity and had given her a reluctant but firm go ahead.

Bucky had tried her hardest to seem just like any of the other fresh-faced soldiers on the battlefield. She'd been too careful for too long for that to be the secret but still, a fear gripped her stomach like no other. No one knew that she bound her breasts or why she preferred to take showers; no one knew that sergeant Bucky Barnes was a female at all, that she would go to jail if anyone told the officials.

"Barnes," Stark had uttered, in his slick greasy all-around American charms, a cigar in the corner of his mouth with smoke still steaming off the lit end, Bucky tried to not inhale the smoke too hard. "How's the battlefield been treating ya?"

The man lived and breathed new money, his flamboyant suits, shelves of well-aged liquor, and a well-groomed mustache a trade-mark sign of his love for his newfound luxurious lifestyle. She bit her tongue in silence and calculated a response that would seem appropriate, "As well as walking around with the human personification of recklessness can go, I suppose."

"Ah, the star-spangled man," Howard uttered, taking a long drag of his cigar, off-handedly shaking some of the soot from his cigar on to the wooden floor. "The man of the hour. Captain America."

Bucky nodded, wishing that she still had her long waves to shield her from this confrontation. Instead, she stood quietly staring at the man who'd designed Steve's shield, heck had designed his whole ridiculous ensemble. Lord knows how the blond could move around in a glorified cat-suit.

Contemplatively, Howard stared at her for a few long moments, she could feel her goosebumps rising as he did so. It felt like he was evaluating her worth and what she had to say. "He's part of the reason why I've wanted to talk to you for so long, sergeant," Howard sat down on the top of his desk, his smoky brown eyes glinting in the evening glow. Bucky had to force herself to maintain eye contact. "Did you know he had me running around like a headless chicken to search for you and your missing team?"

The air in the room had Bucky's stomach twist and turn, flipping around like the pancakes her mother used to make for the pair of them when Bucky and Steve had still been kids. She missed the rich buttery flavor, the fluffy texture as she worked to chew through the softness; she missed the apricot jam with the little seeds that her mother in her sky-blue apron would spread on the stack.

Her mother had been a blooming southern belle with her naive little sensibilities about the world, and her father had been the roguish thief that had won her, had stolen her away to Brooklyn after marrying. The New Yorker life had destroyed something in her that Bucky's father had never been able to successfully heal; it was something that had been apparent throughout Bucky's childhood. Even now, Bucky could remember her mother's sullen, lonely face as she drank her red wine in the morning, the neighbors gossiping about her and her backward country ways.

On those days, her mother would touch her carefully, her eyes examining the child that bared little to no resemblance to herself, she would press their small bodies close together and she'd talk to Bucky about the sweltering Virginian summers. Summers where the sweat would evaporate as easily as it had developed. Her eyes would glaze over, either from the wine or the emotions as she lost herself in stories of her childhood. She had drunk herself into the grave eventually but still, even now, Bucky had a longing for summers under a sun that she had never even laid under.

"Well, it wasn't all for nothing, was it?" Bucky decided to quip, nervously, "You guys found us, didn't you?"

"Yes, we found you," Howard drawled, extinguishing his cigar on the ashtray, leaving it half-crumpled, stalking closer to where she was still standing stockstill. "I'm interested in you... James. Your relationship with Steve Rogers remains an area of study that I have yet to finish analyzing."

Her heart was stuck in her throat as Howard looked at her knowingly, "I... don't know what you mean, Mr. Stark."

"On the contrary, I think you know very well what I mean, Ms. Barnes," Howard mocked her, and she couldn't help the inadvertent step that she took as she stumbled away from the man who had found out all that she'd been trying to keep hidden. "You love Steve Rogers, do you not? You went into a war, stripped of your true nature, fully aware of everything you were sacrificing for a man who remains oblivious to your undying support. You love him even though he loves another."

"I don't know what you mean," She choked out again, her tears lining her eyes as she gripped her uniform, everything within her screaming to get away from this man who knew her secrets. But, she couldn't move, it was like her feet had been stapled into the ground. What more did he know?

"Ms. Barnes, I see you for what you truly are," He approached her hunched back, stepping carefully as though she was a stray kitten, his hand rose and ran through her soft short curls. Bucky could smell the scent of the intoxicating smoke that wafted off of the man as he tilted her chin upwards and grazed their mouths together. She whimpered as though she'd been punched but she nonetheless leaned forward when their mouths slipped together again as she clumsily kissed back into his waiting mouth. His hand had dropped to her waist as he clenched fistfuls of her hair to force her face upwards.

When they both finally came up for air, her mouth was plumped red and her tears had flown down her cheeks, tears that the Stark had wiped away with a calloused thumb, trembling as she stopped herself from running away from that terrifyingly intense gaze.

"It's getting late, Ms. Barnes," Howard stated as he looked outside where the soldiers were getting ready for the evening parade. He pressed a weighty ring on to the palm of her hand before departing elsewhere in the house, "I'll call you again for another meeting but till then, take care."

She watched as the other man departed, leisurely, his posture calm and confident. He was so different to Steve, she couldn't help but compare. Despite all of the new changes in his new muscular body, he still held himself like he was five foot four and two inches smaller than her, his fists clenched, ready to fight the war for the next valiant cause. Awkward Steve was still awkward but now he was just a little bigger. She looked at the ring in her hands and examined the insignia engraved. It was much too nice to belong to herself but she still shoved it in one of the buttoned pockets of her uniform as she headed out of the house.

There she met up with the captain who threw a familiar arm around his shoulder, as they walked side by side to the parade. When she looked back up at the house, she swore that she could see Howard's face looking down at them. She looked away.


	2. liquor and shandy

For the next few weeks, Bucky couldn't help but raise her wariness for what Stark was going to do. She'd always had to look over her shoulders but with the added attention of Howard Stark on herself, her stress levels were through the roof with how meticulous she was having to be in leaving little to no evidence of her secrets. With a bite of her dry frost-bitten lips, she knew that Howard had tremendous power over what could happen to her if she wasn't careful with how she balanced their interactions. As she trekked behind her fellow soldiers, she couldn't help pressing a hand to where she had hidden the ring, the weight of the metal a bizarrely comforting thing.

She'd examined it countless of times as they'd trudged through the tundra, and even though she'd tried to be discrete, her fleet of soldier-mates had seen her glance at it with undisguised emotions many times. The metal was not something that she'd ever seen before, not that she had much knowledge of jewelry past the wedding ring that had adorned her mother's left finger. It sparkled with an unearthly glow that had her intrigued. She'd accidentally dropped it on the ground, and the metal ring had seemingly absorbed all of the sounds as it clattered on the ground. Since then, she'd been hopelessly curious on how on Earth it was remotely possible for such a feat to be possible.

The war dragged tirelessly on, and she soon forgot all of the questions that had bubbled up in her mind. Month after month, the death toll racked up like the debt the world owed to the US. Lives were bought and spent, laundered. Controlling herself was necessary if she wanted to prevent herself from attaching to any of the new recruits. As she rose through the ranks, her demeanor hardened like flintstone.

She puffed through her cigarette rations like breathing. Nicotine and tar filling her lungs as she loaded a precise bullet between the eyes of her enemies. Even still, she never joined in with the rib-teasing humor of the men who sloppily treated every day like their last. She'd walked across the corpses of enough youthful men looking for an adventure that had found their demise instead to know that she was right.

Steve had tried to persuade her countless times to return to Brooklyn after days of her disengaging attitude to her surroundings. "Please, Buck, I'm begging you," He'd said, ever the boyish sparkle in his blue ocean eyes, Mr. Captain America. "You're gonna get yourself killed one day."

In turn, she'd scoffed at his words and delicately rebuked his attention, "Eyes on the war, sport, if it's anyone's game, it's mine."

He'd looked on disapprovingly, but she figured that after years of pulling the blond out of escalated rabbles he'd cut her some slack. Steve'd said she was growing despondent to situations, said she was growing careless, and that it'd be her hide on fire if she didn't snap out of it.

If Bucky was truly honest, she'd never really cared about herself, to begin with, but it was the onset of the war that had chipped away at her crafted facade, and she was growing too tired to not let people see her china-doll hollowness. The only time that a gleam re-entered her eye was when she was staring at the Stark ring in awe and amazement.

Perhaps, it was inevitable that Dernier, the hopeless romantic of their band of misfits, would hunker down during one of their rest spots, his mess-tin with the troglodyte bland mush of rations swiped clean to the side as the fire crackled dimly. It was a risk lighting a fire when they were in enemy territory with hidden spies on the prowl, but the fire functioned as a small respite from the cold that had settled into their bones as the war dragged on.

The last she'd listened to the radio, the British were hopeful that the war was going to end by winter - a Christmas gift for all - but what until then? The soldiers out on the battlefield served as cannon fodder for a war that took young lives as though it was breakfast. She hauled her sniper rifle closer to herself and resisted the urge to clean it out again for the third time that day. Her supplies for clean cloth and oil were running out and she couldn't afford to keep a rusting rifle.

"Got a missus waiting for you back at home, Bucky?" Dernier asked, his head tilted with one eye out to listen to the sounds of the forest. "You going to propose as soon as the war is over?"

"Something like that," Bucky drawled, in what she hoped was a fitting answer to his question. She had to look at the bareness of the trees to not let her emotions escape from under her.

She was sure that when the war was over, Peggy and Steve would get married in their shared family church back in Brooklyn. She also knew that when that day came, she would have to leave as fast as her legs would be able to take her. Steve's happiness was one of the most important things to her but she wouldn't be able to stomach seeing his besotted loving look aimed at another for the rest of her life.

"Tell me about her, Sarge," Dernier asked, almost pleadingly and Bucky was hit with how terribly young the French man was, just out of boyhood and he'd chosen the army as a way to prove his worth. When they'd started out, Dernier had been the most naive out of the bunch; it was hard to believe that this was the same man that had mercilessly taken down tropes of enemy soldiers without shuddering at the blood splatters that their bodies made or bowing his head when they spoke his mother tongue.

"She's one of the bravest ladies I've ever met, Derns," Bucky said, as sincerely as her awkwardness would allow her to say, "Got a temper to boot but I would be lying if I said that I'd change her for anything. She's fiercely loyal to those who she cares for and you'd be a fool to get on her wrong side."

Dernier whistled lowly at her words, "Sounds like she's a real piece of work, Sarge."

Bucky smiled with a hidden moroseness, "That's why I love her."

She stood up, ending their conversation there but as she walked away with her own mess tin, she could feel Dernier's contemplative glance lasering in on her back.

* * *

  
The next time she meets Stark is at a bar. He's on a business of some sorts, and the Howling Commandos had drawn at a pitstop for a round or two. Steve had unwittingly offered to pay for their drinks and Bucky couldn't help but shake her head in favor of a seat by Howard's side. Steve looked at her with confusion but she stared at him down until he relented reluctantly and returned to Peggy's side.

It was a bittersweet feeling, rougher than the slide of any bowl of grits, knowing that she was willingly driving Steve into the arms of the brave and lovely Peggy Carter. There was no other woman she would have preferred to defer to nonetheless, and at that moment, she pictured a beautiful photo of Carter-Rogers' babies with a crown full of blond hair and sharp brown eyes. She's sure she'd love all of them like they were her own. Even if it was going to be in the form of the distant aunt who sent lucrative presents every birthday, Christmas, Hanukkah, or Thanksgiving.

As she refocused her attention on Stark, she had to lock her spine for fear of stepping back. The older man was already looking at her, a tilted gaze with slightly blurred eyes that made him no less intense but instead seemed to strip him down to a more primal nature that the genius probably hid when he was sober. The army officials that had surrounded him scattered quietly, leaving the man to drink his whiskey on his own. It was a silent conversation as Stark kicked a stool beside himself for her to sit down.

Summoning as much courage that she could muster, she strode to sit beside Howard Stark, head held high despite how hard her hands were trembling.

"Sargeant," He said, with dark amusement that made her want to suffocate. "We keep meeting."

"Purely coincidental, I promise you," She replied, gesturing to the barmaid for a drink, small beads of sweat collecting at the bone of her brow. "If I'd known you were going to be here, I would have searched myself another bar to get wasted in."

"On the contrary, I'd been anticipating for our next encounter for almost weeks," He said, and Bucky couldn't help the harshness with which she pushed her ragged fingernails into the bed of her palms. What did he want from her? The unknown scared and excited her, pumped the adrenaline in her veins even as she maintained painful eye contact, his eyes lasered on to her own. Despite how big the room was, she could feel the walls closing in on her.

There was a beat of silence before she self-deprecatingly smiled, a show of nonchalance, "Well, here I am." The faux-leather seat she sat on was getting slick with sweat, and she tried to conjure up as much blase charisma that the Stark heir naturally permeated from every pore to his fingertips.

"Yes," He answered, with dimples on his cheeks, an unmistakable twinkle in his warm hazy eyes. "Here you are, indeed."

She looked away and tried her best to observe the locals who were still smiling and jolly, laughing raucously in good nature at a well-ribbed joke that the barmaid had said. The morale was high despite how decrepit the state of the bar was, there were wooden boards in place of windows with bullet holes still stuck into the walls or countertops.

"Can we just get to it, please?" She bit her lip as the silence dragged on, she could feel the sting of tears in the back of her eyes, as she forced herself to be upfront. Her life was at stake here.

The older man had his bushy eyes furrowed in confusion at sight of her anxiety and subtly leaned forward to study her better. He placed a large palm on top of hers, shutting out outside forces and zeroing her attention on him and only him. "I'd like to have dinner with you, James."

Abruptly, he stood up and the loss of the touch left her feeling slightly bereft, "Meet me back here at 7 pm. I want to get to know you better."

With that, he strolled out relaxedly, the gait of someone with the upper hand. This time, she was the one who stared at him as he left the room, speechless as to what had transpired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your support guys!! i do read and then re-read every comment i get, it's what fuels me to continue writing.

**Author's Note:**

> this is lowkey one of my guilty pleasures.


End file.
